NegaDark: Independent Operative
by VAPX007
Summary: My first short story glimpse into the flip-side universe. If you thought everyone is too friendly in my Darkverse try the NegaDarkverse instead. Picks up months after the Episode: Life, the Negaverse and Everything. I disclaim ownership of the Darkwing Duck characters and concepts.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Darkwing Duck and all associated characters from the TV series belong to Disney._

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**Chapter: Independent Operative. Part: One**

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There was a feeble lamp in each corner of the room and an extra one on the desk. Together they raised the office area up from the darkness into a gloomy half-light. In the dimness the bookshelves were dark forbidding places and the decorative statues and plastic plants stood about like looming oppressive monstrosities. On the wall opposite the door hung a heavy velvet curtain that was drawn. Green, purple or navy; it was too dark in the room to know for sure.

Director James G Hooter sat at his desk near the fifth small circle of light, musing on the murky liquid in the drinking glass on his table that had recently arrived at the hands of one of his personal aides. "Remarkable." He gently tapped his finger against the glass. "It's certainly not something I would care to drink." He looked down at the case file on his table. "One certainly cannot be any more prepared to finally meet someone than having memorised his life history."

The intercom buzzed and he pressed the button.  
"Sir, your ten o'clock is now here to see you."  
"Oh, good." Hooter answered pleasantly. "I've been looking forward to this all week." He felt a tremor of excitement as the door to his office opened and he stood up in greeting.

Through the door his long-awaited visitor came. This individual was unusually slim and tall. His green leaves had a feathery consistency and he had a full head of bright purple coloured petals. The visitor walked in and the re-circulated air of the room instantly took on a distinct floral scented freshness.

The essence of the individual before him was beyond description and could only be experienced first hand. It was only here now in person that Hooter could understand how this fellow could have such sway over women to make so many fall to his charms.

But there was a severity in his furrowed brow and a mark of wary suspicion in his gaze. He moved his head to regard the room with a slow deliberate motion. When the plant-duck hybrid turned his gaze onto Hooter the intelligence in him was evident.

"You are much taller than your wanted posters portray you, Doctor Reginald Bushroot." He smiled up at the hybrid plant duck as he stood there silently looking back. "My name is Director Hooter. I head S.H.U.S.H. offices here in St. Canard. I am so gratified to meet you at last. Erm ... the height difference between us is a little awkward; won't you sit down, doctor?" He offered the chair opposite him and the hybrid approached him, sitting down warily.

Hooter also sat down and gestured to the glass on the table. "I took the liberty of arranging some refreshment to be brought in for you. You'll find it is the same formula we've been giving you this past week in the recovery ward."  
"Thank you very much." The plant-duck readily reached for the glass, showing his awareness of who his benefactors were.  
"I must apologise that the environment of my office is not the most comforting for you. Especially given a place like this must remind-."  
"It's fine, Mr. ..." The plant-duck interrupted. "Uh, I'm not sure how to address you."  
"Well ..." Hooter paused, giving it some thought. "My agents do call me director."  
"Funny." The incongruous creature snorted. "Does that mean they have no direction if you suddenly go unexpectedly absent?"

That took Hooter aback and he watched the hybrid carefully. The plant-duck was not posing a threat but merely making a 'these things happen' observation about the brief nature of life such as he perceived it from the world in which he lived. "My agents have worked quite hard to restore your health. It has not been easy to get you even to this point ... I do not think ... that is, if-."  
"I'll get over it, I'm sure." Bushroot gritted. "Plants have amazing recuperative powers. You'd be surprised what we can live through."  
"Yes ..." Hooter frowned. "But now I wonder ... was the treatment effective? Have you been ... reformed?"


	2. Chapter 2

_A/n: Reference to Wind in the Willows._

_A/n: There's only one thing that will make me feel better at a time like this and that's a fresh kill. Yep: time to write darkly again._

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**Independent Operative Part Two**

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James G Hooter watched as Doctor Reginald Bushroot put the glass down and leaned back in the chair.

"I killed two people." Tears formed in the plant-duck's eyes. "They weren't even particularly bad people. For that I ..." He gulped, "I don't deserve to live. I certainly deserve everything I get."  
"My gosh." Hooter blinked at this personal condemnation. "You spent all that time imprisoned and this is what you have come to conclude?"  
"I'm sorry if it wasn't what you were wanting." The hybrid sniffed tearily.  
"I must say it certainly make things a tad difficult on my end." Hooter was actually feeling a bit shocked. The truth was that he was both emotionally and financially attached to this case, and had pinned Bushroot as the answer. Seeing his last hope turn into a weeping willow was not exactly a promising return on his investment.

"Just a tad?" Bushroot wiped his tears away.  
"Yes. I'll have you know that in my own honest opinion of you, you do deserve to live, doctor Bushroot. If you can see what you did wrong, know that it's wrong and feel repentful then you are miles in front of many. You are a much more worthwhile person than how you are currently seeing yourself."  
The biological curiosity rubbed his face. "I'm not following you."  
"You have learnt a potent lesson and what a waste to throw it away by killing you."

Bushroot frowned, studying Hooter carefully. "You've gone to a lot of effort to get me in this cozy room of yours. You obviously want me to do something for you."

Hooter cleared his throat and glanced around at his collection of books that lined the walls and the couple of plastic plants that stood on stone pillars on either side of the door that Bushroot had just called 'cozy'. "I'm sure nobody has quite described this room like that before." Although the nice plush red lounge opposite the bookshelves did comfy up the slightly doomed feeling a tad.  
"I could say 'closed in'," the plant-duck frowned, "but that's not your fault I feel buried up to my stamens in here." He gestured to the curtains. "That's no window; it's just a doorway to an anterior room. Who built this place? It's like a rabbit warren."  
"You get to come and go as you like, doctor, and it is actually more akin to Mole End seeing as that is who the original builders were." Hooter answered curtly.

"My job puts me here and I assure you I need no reminding as to the morbidity of my location." He felt his irritation rise at his situation. "Consider yourself fortunate that this is my tomb and not yours!"  
"I'm sorry it's so distressing for you."  
"Forgive my rant." Hooter rubbed his head, searching for his composure. "But since coming down here I have had these odd spells of sudden inexplicit madness. It is the inevitable result of being confined to the catacombs. To spend all my hours be they day or night ..." Gracious but it was a sore point for him.  
"Uh ... perhaps you should try getting out more often?"  
Hooter hesitated the thought and sighed sadly. "I cannot until the matter that brought S.H.U.S.H. down here has been resolved. It would be negligent of me to be so careless as to get myself killed at this point in time."  
"Oh, well, perhaps it is a whole bunch safer down here after all."

"Dear me now where was I? You have successfully managed to get me in a muddle, doctor ... Oh, yes." Hooter smiled at the hybrid. "I'd like to take you up as an independent operative."  
"I'm not sure what that is." Bushroot had a suspicious look on his face. "But I'm certainly not going to call you 'director' because I don't accept instructions and especially from someone I barely know. Just ask Ne-anyone." Reginald Bushroot flinched.  
"I'm merely asking you to look into this matter for me." Hooter cleared his throat, uncomfortable with what he was next going to say. "You are the fifth agent I have given this assignment to and it is beyond distressing. And that is quite apart from the fact that all four predecessors of yours are dead on the attempt to complete this task."

Bushroot's eyes narrowed. "Dead. Right. So you're desperate and you come to me. Is it because you think I can do what no one else can or are you just running out of agents to throw at this problem?"  
"I certainly hope you can do it." Hooter reassured him. "I certainly do not want to give the order a sixth time and I certainly would like to see you in my office again."  
"Do you realise that if I don't like what you want me to do, I won't do it?"  
"I will be at least grateful that you heard me out on the details at least."  
"Sure." Bushroot watched him. "Go on then. As the corn says: I'm all ears."


End file.
